The Cake Was Never Really About the Cake

A message from Erin...

As we’ve shared recently in our blogs and through social media posts, we have a wall of images in our office that represent our teammates’ “Coins”. This display has become a great reminder for all of us of the depth of our full-time staff and our team of Expert Facilitators, and what we all value.  

In this week’s blog, our colleague and Director of Programs, Erin Watson, gives us a glimpse into her values, and shares some of the currency beneath one of the images she chose.

Erin has 10+ years of experience in the non-profit education field managing experiential law-based programs, developing engaging curriculum, and providing meaningful professional development opportunities for teachers throughout the State of Florida. As a member of the Game On staff, Erin oversees the development and implementation of innovative and impactful programs designed to improve overall teamwork and connection.

Erin has been with Game On for over 7 years now, and we're so thankful for the intentionality, innovation and value that she brings to our team.

- Steve Shenbaum

When I had children, I found that making them feel celebrated was really important to me. So birthdays are kind of a big deal, and I decided that Mom making a custom, glorious cake would find it's way into their core memory bank and be something they cherished profoundly later in life.

Then my children decided they don't really like cake. And not just my cakes. Like, any cake. Which, frankly, feels like a fairly significant design flaw in my long-term parenting strategy.

So I had to find somewhere else to channel my cake-making enthusiasm.

What I've discovered through many cake fails and triumphs, is that I don't think I actually love cake as much as I love making cake.

Trusting the Process 

I enjoy the precision of baking. There is something wonderfully satisfying about measuring everything exactly, getting the ratios right, figuring out why one buttercream behaves beautifully while another seems determined to ruin my evening. I love trying a new technique or combining flavors I've never tried before and seeing if the idea in my head actually works in real life.

There is also something about the process that requires you to slow down and pay attention. You can't really rush a cake. Well, you can, but your cake will probably know, and it will punish you for it. 

Slow. Steady. Intentional. That's a recipe for success.

And yet, sometimes, despite doing everything “right,” it doesn't work.

A layer doesn't rise. A filling is too soft. The frosting decides it has other plans.

That's where baking has taught me something I probably needed to learn anyway: trust the process, even when the process isn't going according to plan.

Not everything has to be perfect to be worthwhile. Sometimes you have to keep going, make the adjustment, learn from what happened, and see what comes next.

Sweet Adaptability

There is no shortage of opportunities to mess up a cake. And every time something goes wrong, you have a choice. You can decide the whole thing is a failure, or you can get curious.

What happened?

What can I change?

What can I learn?

What can I do differently next time?

And, occasionally, How can I cover this with enough frosting that no one notices?

Sometimes the answer is simply to adapt.

A cake that didn't turn out exactly as planned can become something else. A crooked layer can be leveled or become part of the design. A decorating technique that didn't work can become an abstract masterpiece. 

And if all else fails, there is always parfait. It may not be as pretty, but it can still be delicious.

I think that's true far beyond the kitchen. 

Innovation requires being willing to make something that might not work. 

Learning requires trying something you've never done before.

Creativity requires giving yourself permission to make a mess. 

And good leadership requires creating environments where people can do all three without feeling like failure is fatal.

The best things are rarely created by people who are afraid of getting them wrong. Sometimes the “failure” is actually just information and sometimes it's the beginning of something better than what you originally imagined.

Sharing the Joy

But the best part of making cakes is what happens when I'm finished.

I get to give them away.

I love making something for a specific person and thinking about what might make them happy. Maybe it's a flavor they love. Maybe it's a combination they've never tried. Maybe it's a design that makes them laugh.

There is something incredibly satisfying about handing someone something you've made specifically for them and watching their face light up.

That's the part that keeps me coming back.

Because the cake becomes more than cake. It becomes a reason to celebrate. A reason to gather around a table. A small way of saying, I know you. I thought about you. I wanted to make something that would bring you joy.

I make them because I love the process. I love learning. I love experimenting. I love figuring out what went wrong when something inevitably goes sideways. But most of all, I love that something I made with my own two hands - and a lot of heart - can make someone else happy.

The cake is just the vehicle.

The connection is the point.